


Dreams in a Row

by ghostie_withthemostie



Series: Crush(ed) [2]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Dream Sex, F/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostie_withthemostie/pseuds/ghostie_withthemostie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beetlejuice felt a summon.  After being in hiding as a result of the drunken antics of one Lydia Deetz, he felt he deserved to have some fun. But...dreams are weird af.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams in a Row

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I own nothing. Which is for the best, really. 
> 
> This is a direct sequel to Wanting Out. More will be added to the Crush(ed) series, though not necessarily in a linear fashion. I write when I can and when the mood strikes me. 
> 
> This is the second time this is being posted. How does it feel knowing that nothing you do matters in the end? Here is my writing, right where it was. It doesn't matter. You can't touch me.

                        Lying low was no new thing for the afterlife’s leading bio-exorcist. When you’ve been around as long as he has, you’re bound to piss someone off at some point. Stuff happens. It’s nobody’s fault…usually. Sometimes you just gotta hunker down and wait for the shitstorm to blow ever. But to be forced into hiding by a goddamn _teenager_ , well, that was just fucking unacceptable.

            Beetlejuice finished his beer and tossed the can behind him, where it banged and clattered with its fallen brothers. He’d given it a week. One week spent in one of his many hidey-holes, waiting things out, trying to make sure Juno or some other undead pencil pusher wasn’t going to show up with a warrant for his immediate expulsion to Saturn. What a boring ass week it had been, too. And there’d been…nothing. Not a peep. He’d gotten away with it, violating rule _numero uno_ of his parole: No contact with Lydia Deetz.

            There _had_ been contact—hoo boy, had there been contact—but she had poofed him away before things had even started to get interesting. She knew how much trouble he could get in, too. He’d made sure she’d understood _that_. The least she could have done was let him have a little fun first, but _noooo_ …stupid kid. Well, Beetlejuice smirked, recalling the full curves under her thin t-shirt and the gushing heat between her legs. Not so much a _kid_ anymore, he supposed.

            He had just been about to pop open another beer and fantasize about exacting payback on the moon-faced slut when he felt the first tingle of a summon travel through him. What a perfect way to end his temporary exile: a good old fashioned scare job. And if Queen Lydia herself was on the other side when he arrived, well, he had plans for that, too. The second jolt of mystic energy shot through him and he could feel the tug from the other side as the spell that was tied to name made ready to yank him over. Cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck, Beetlejuice waited for lucky number three. And waited. And… _waited._ Beetlejuice sprang to his feet.

“Okay, asshole! Enough’s enough! Let’s get a move on, kay?!” He shouted at the ceiling, feeling twitchy and irritated. Being only partially summoned was like being left with a supernatural case of blue balls.

            He began pacing, trying to shake off the tangle of energy that followed him wherever he went. If the scumbag had actually just given up on calling him, this sensation should be gone, too. It made no goddamn sense. Feeling the stirring of the summon once again, he waited hopefully for something to happen, but, again, nothing. This happened three or four more times, each time causing his fury to mount higher. When number five began, he didn’t even allow himself to think, he just _threw_ himself psychically at the summons.

_Flash._

            Beetlejuice found himself on a cliff overlooking a roaring ocean. Everything was in shades of gray. _Where the fuck was he?_ It didn’t feel like the netherworld, and he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t the living world either. _Aw, shit…_ he was _so_ not in the mood for some goddamn purgatory fucking “between the worlds” garbage. _As soon as he found the douchebag that landed him here, he’d-_ Beetlejuice spotted a figure in black working its way closer to the cliffs. He began to follow. It wasn’t hard, idiot was moving like he was walking through wet cement. Getting closer, Beetlejuice saw that it was a she—and surprise, sur-mother fucking-prise—it was Lydia Deetz. She was in a black jumpsuit and trudging along, staring straight ahead.

“Well, look who it is! The queen of darkness herself. Miss me since we last met, hmm? Call me to finish what I started?” Beetlejuice catcalled behind Lydia, who did not turn her head or acknowledge him. “Now just you fucking listen, if you’re gonna fucking summon me the least you can do is- _woah._ ” The hand he had reached out with to grab her shoulder slid through her like she was made of smoke. That was interesting. Lydia continued walking, unconcerned. Beetlejuice remained rooted the spot, thinking.

            Now, he had been around ghosts and shit for over a thousand years so this wasn’t _that_ shocking, but the thing was: the girl didn’t _feel_ dead. Usually when you see a ghost, you know it’s a ghost, at least when you _are_ one. So why the hell— _oh_. Beetlejuice’s expression transformed into a scowl. Lydia had reached the precipice and finally turned to face him. Confusion crossed her features at seeing him there.

“I’m in your fucking _dream_ ,” he deadpanned before she laughed, threw out her arms and fell backward into the swell of the violent sea.

 

_Flash_.

 

            He was sitting at the end of a long, long dinner table in what seemed like fucking Wonderland. Black curlicue candelabras and ornate chandeliers cast warm light along the table, which was-oh yeah-covered in twisting, hissing snakes. _Fun._ Dreams were tricky like that. Sometimes they could be like watching a long, well plotted movie and sometimes it was like someone with A.D.D. was flicking through the channels on the TV, never settling on one station. Sighing, Beetlejuice stood and began walking down to the other end of the table, trying to decide on a plan of action. Manipulating a dream was no problem, he’d been doing that shit since before he’d even _died_ , but it did require a lot of energy—energy that would be wasted if Lydia’s erratic brain decided to jump to a new dream scene. He needed to seize control so she _couldn’t_ make that jump, take things over, shake things up a bit. Plus, bitch deserved a good scare after dicking him around. But, how best to go about it? The regular scary shit wouldn’t work with her, kid had been hanging with ghosts since high school. Calling to mind their last encounter, the ghost with the most began moving with a purpose, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

“Lydia…” he crooned to the cavernous room. The air around him seemed to pulse and the other end of the table finally became visible, a distant figure almost discernable at the head. _There she was_. The ghost began his prowl in her direction.

            Though his pace was steady, Lydia wasn’t seeming to get any closer as he moved. He flexed his magic, trying to pin down her location.

“Why are you trying to keep me away, babes? You’re the one who called me here. We got unfinished business, you and me. I figure we can talk it out or…other things.” His last words carried a suggestive weight. The room shuddered around him.

Beetlejuice kept his voice low and measured, its gravelly tones amplified clearly in the dim room. “I was just thinking again about your tight, hot, little cunt. The way it squeezed my fingers when I had you up against the wall. Remember it? You were so wet.” The hissing of the thousands of snakes rose suddenly, violently, then vanished, leaving his voice the only remaining sound. Chuckling darkly, he continued. “I didn’t let you come that time. You were so close weren’t you? Maybe this time I’ll let you finish…” He let the possibility hang there, noticing as he got closer, that the snakes were beginning to morph and change…all ending up in the same pattern: black with white stripes. He grinned. _Got her_.

            Finally, he was in front of her. Her head was leaned forward, face obscured by a black lace veil. In front of her on the table was a plate piled high with snakes, some still writhing, others mutilated and dead, bleeding a deep red onto the white tablecloth. _Yum._ Focusing more of his energy to make her corporeal to him, Beetlejuice crouched next to her, turning the chair she was still frozen in until she was facing him. He could now see that it wasn’t only her veil that was black lace, but her entire ensemble. And—ahh--underneath: _nothing_.

He let out a low whistle as he took it all in, “Is this all for me, babes? You shouldn’t have.” Lydia trembled. Beetlejuice’s cock twitched at the sight. Reaching up, he flipped the veil from her face. Her eyes were downcast, her mouth smeared with dark blood, the contrast stark against her pale skin. Lowering his hands to her knees, he pushed to spread them slowly apart, meeting no resistance.

“Look at me,” he purred roughly, grabbing a handful of the lace that covered her lap and tearing it open to reveal the secret place between her thighs. Lydia twitched but otherwise did not react.

            He picked up her left leg, dropping the ankle over his right shoulder, “Look at me,” he repeated. Still no response. Turning his head, he began working his way up her calf and then her thigh with tongue and teeth--mostly teeth. He grinned against her as he felt her body vibrate against him. When his nose was hovering right in front of her nest of curls, he glanced up to find her eyes still turned away from him. “Look at me!” He demanded harshly, bringing his teeth down in earnest on her soft inner thigh. Jumping, eyes shooting open wide, Lydia met his gaze and-

_Flash._

            “Goddammit!” Beetlejuice felt a huge draw on his energy as the scene changed, nearly depleting his reserves. Now he found himself sitting on the edge of a large plush bed, its cover and pillows a deep, crimson satin. The only other visible fixture in this new location was a vanity table and chair where Lydia sat, brushing her long black hair, which snapped and flew wildly around her head as though blown about by a strong wind. She was wearing— _holy shit_ —the red wedding dress. Looking down, he found himself to be dressed, as well, in his own wedding finery and he barked a laugh. _Women—so predictable._

            With that last thought, he decided to get things moving along--it was their _wedding_ night after all--but when he attempted to stand he found we was unable to move. His brow furrowed in annoyance, he tried again with the same result, which was to say: none. He focused all of his remaining mystical energy on freeing himself from this stasis. Just as he was beginning to be able to twitch a few fingers, Lydia turned slowly to face him and he felt the last of his energy dissipate like a puff of smoke. He was stuck and completely at her mercy, just another facet of her dream now. _Well, shit._

            She stood and Beetlejuice was pretty damn sure he didn’t remember that wedding dress being quite so filmy…and clingy…and…well she definitely hadn’t possessed those curves. His mouth watered. Lydia moved toward him, a sensual promise in the swing of her hips and a violent malice to the set of her eyes. Beetlejuice had to say: the combo was working for him. His pants were definitely starting feel a little less roomy in the groin region. But, still being completely immobile and not used to abandoning all control to anyone— _even_ to some dumb kid, _even_ in a dream—the ghost did what he always did when he felt his back was against the wall: he ran his mouth.

            “Well if it isn’t my blushing bride! I always knew you’d look best in red—although it’s not fair of you to stick me in a dream of our wedding night when you’re the one that fought so hard to get out of it. Now you’re all grown, you’re starting to realize what you missed out on, eh? Not my fucking problem. Your loss, that’s what I told them. There are thousands of ladies that would kill for a piece of this and here you—“, at this point, Lydia had reached him, holding onto his shoulders as she settled one knee on either side of his legs on the bed. Head tilted, she observed him as he sputtered and tried to continue on his tirade. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling at snarls and tangles as she did so, moving a hand to caress his neck, sliding it over his chest, before finally settling at plucking at the buttons of his moldy tuxedo.

            “Hey, now! What—“ Lydia silenced him with a look. _Literally_ silenced him; his mouth continued to move but no sound came out. _What the fuck_.

            Lydia, growing bored with the buttons and snaps, simply tore open his jacket and then moved to divest him of his ruffled dress shirt by the same means. He now sat beneath her, naked from the waist up. Her eyes glided over him, one hand hesitantly lifting to tweak a flat nipple. When he twitched, Lydia lifted her eyes to his, her gaze amused and curious, his annoyed and somewhat aroused. Tilting her head forward, she bit down on the tiny nub, making Beetlejuice gasp mutely. Smirking, she slid both hands down his sides, grabbing the fleshy skin there and pulling closer to him. Beetlejuice’s erection throbbed and he felt his hips jerk up of their own accord, rocking Lydia forward against him. Her breasts, still covered by that soft, filmy fabric, pressed up against his bare chest, her face less than an inch from his own. They both breathed a little heavier than normal as they stared one another down.

            Without breaking his gaze, Lydia reached down and slid a hand over the growing mound between them, feeling it twitch under her hand when she gripped it. Beetlejuice bit his lip, his black eyes still locked with hers, refusing to give her any more reaction. Moving slowly and deliberately, Lydia lifted the gauzy red fabric from over her legs, sliding it over her head and letting it drop behind her. He knew she was completely bare now and, though it was a struggle, he refused to let his eyes move even a millimeter from her face. Beetlejuice felt her wiggle and shift against him again and then— _oh fuck_ —something burning hot and damp settled right over the bulge in his trousers. His jaw dropped open in a silent pant and when she ground against him, he gave up and let his head fall back, glad of his temporary silence as he let out a long moan.

            Lydia giggled— _fucking giggled_ —and Beetlejuice wished more than anything he could move his limbs because he’d have her flat on her back in no time flat and laughter would be the last sound coming out of her. His head snapped back up and he glared at her, trying to relay that message with a look. Lydia pouted and blew a puff of air at his face and he fell backwards onto the bed, arms spread, still completely useless, at his sides. Another tear of fabric and his erection sprang free, dark and throbbing. Lydia settled over him, hovering close enough over his tip that he could feel the heat coming from her. Beetlejuice ground his teeth. She stared at him.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Lydia asked, rubbing her slick opening against him, almost letting him enter. Beetlejuice, still unable to talk, gestured with his eyes to his arms. “You want to touch me?” She queried and Beetlejuice let his eyes burn into hers with his exact depth of his wanting.

            And then, miracle of miracles, he could move his arms. He lifted them slowly, holding her eyes as he settled his palms on her thighs. He could feel her muscles twitch underneath as she still held herself over him, poised to slide down. Moving his hands upwards, he let his fingers graze the undersides of her breasts, thumbs flicking her nipples, making her moan. Lydia finally began to lower onto him, even as his hands moved higher, over her breasts, and up her shoulders. Just as the tip of his cock slid into her wet heat—and _fuck_ she was as tight as he thought she’d be—he squeezed his hands around her throat with all his strength and

_Flash._

            Beetlejuice was lying on his back, returned to his hiding spot in the netherworld, surrounded by cigarette butts and beer cans. His dick still throbbed with unfulfilled want and he angrily popped the fastenings of his striped pants, freeing his organ and bringing himself to completion with just three hard pumps of his fist. Breathing raggedly, lightheaded, he swore the next time he saw the bitch in the flesh she’d get hers.

……

On the other side, alone in her dark room, Lydia woke with a pounding heart and driving need between her thighs. Groaning with shame, she rolled onto her side, tucking herself into a ball and waiting for the vivid details of her dream to fade so she could get back to sleep. _I wanted…with him! No no nononono._ Try as she might, the images refused the fade; the feel of his hands on her breasts and his teeth on her inner thigh lingered, keeping her flesh heated, making the place between her legs throb, empty and aching.

It wasn’t until after two leg-shuddering orgasms that she was able to drift back into a dreamless slumber, feeling no more satisfied than when she had awoken.   

 _________________________

 

“Four dreams in a row, four dreams in a row, four dreams in a row,

fall down right there. I wanted to fall down right there but I knew

you wouldn’t catch me because you’re dead.       I swallowed crushed ice

pretending it was glass and you’re dead. Ashes to ashes.

 

You wanted to be cremated so I cremated you and you wanted an adventure

            so I ran            and I knew you wouldn’t catch me.

You are a fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening

            at the wrong end of a very long tunnel.”

 

-Richard Siken, _Crush,_ p.31, verse 2. “Straw House, Straw Dog”

 

           


End file.
